


my world is you

by spartans



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:20:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29426598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spartans/pseuds/spartans
Summary: Loving Satori is second nature, after all, coming to him with all the ease of a rising sun or the crest of a wave. It’s in every peal of laughter, every steady heartbeat, every breath. Loving Satori is loving everything in this simple, beautiful world, because Satori loves it all right back.
Relationships: Tendou Satori/Ushijima Wakatoshi
Comments: 20
Kudos: 91
Collections: Valentendou Week





	my world is you

**Author's Note:**

> written for valentendou week, day five (domestic/married, proposals). title is taken from [ ‘bloom'](https://open.spotify.com/track/41yIvlFgvGwxq8qTqAR7eG?si=EWFOUKEDSRiAS-zzdRjoTw) by the paper kites, which serves as a decent musical accompaniment for this piece (if you're into that kind of thing).
> 
> personally, i envision this taking place in their early thirties, sometime after ushijima has retired and they're finally (!!!) living together. i'd like to think they have a cozy little place somewhere in france, a home that's quiet and tucked away from the world. but that's just my personal ushiten lore. :,)
> 
> hope you enjoy!

When Wakatoshi wakes, it’s to the feather-light sensation of breath against his neck.

He stirs, breathing in the scent of clean linen. He feels hands, too, that slide slowly down his torso, coming to rest on his hips. A single kiss, close-mouthed and chaste, is pressed to the bone of his jaw.

It’s all so gentle and so familiar and so, so _wonderful_.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” comes a whisper, right beside his ear.

Wakatoshi blinks his eyes open, then smiles.

Satori looks beautiful like this, though Wakatoshi could never see him any other way. There’s just something about the way daylight spills golden across his face that’s positively angelic, casting soft shadows into the contours of his cheekbones, the dip of his cupid’s bow. Wakatoshi can even make out the faint cluster of freckles that speckle his cheeks, coaxed out of hiding by the first few tender rays of morning.

And his smile. _Always_ his smile, the most golden thing of all. Everything seems to glow softly these days, especially him.

Wakatoshi feels so incredibly lucky.

He pushes himself onto one elbow; almost instantly, Satori leans in closer. His hands find their way to Wakatoshi’s bare chest, and he lets out the sweetest little sigh that makes Wakatoshi’s heart swell with affection. With gratitude. He’ll never get tired of this.

_Lucky indeed._

“Good morning,” Wakatoshi says softly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind Satori’s ear. “Did you sleep well?”

“I think I had a dream,” Satori murmurs against his chest. “I don’t remember what happened, though.” 

Wakatoshi runs his fingers through Satori’s hair, gently, slowly. “Oh?”

Satori looks up at him, gaze soft.

“I _do_ know that it was nice,” he says. “I was happy.”

“Were you?”

“I still am, now that you’re awake.”

At that, Satori curls up against Wakatoshi, pushing him back down onto the bed. They’re chest to chest; Wakatoshi can feel Satori’s heart beating against his.

They lie like that for a while, embracing the other’s warmth. The sunlight that seeps through their bedroom window is pale and dreamy.

Wakatoshi has just barely begun to drift off once more when Satori lifts his head, turning his cheek to meet Wakatoshi’s gaze. Those red-hazel eyes of his seem to glimmer.

“C’mon,” he coos, a playful smile stretched across his face. Lightly, he brushes his knuckles against Wakatoshi’s jaw. “If we get up now, we can probably catch the last little bit of sunrise. I’ll even make you a cup of tea.”

Wakatoshi leans into his touch. _It’s nice_ , he thinks fleetingly, _being here, with him._

It’s mornings like this where the love he feels for Satori is so all-consuming, utterly unconditional, something he can feel in every part of his being. It’s the feeling of being known, of being seen. Of being _home_.

It’s mornings like this, slow and sweet, where Wakatoshi can’t help but think of the little velvet box tucked away in the corner of his sock drawer, and knows, wholly, that _this_ is what he wants.

Wakatoshi nods, smiling.

“I’ll follow you in a moment,” he promises.

_Always, I’ll follow you._

True to his word, Satori makes them each a cup of jasmine tea.

As he fiddles with the kettle, Wakatoshi embraces him from behind, wrapping his arms around Satori’s slender waist. He rests his forehead on his boyfriend’s shoulder and lets out a sigh of contentment.

Satori’s free hand finds its way to Wakatoshi’s head and begins to gently scratch the hair behind his ear. It’s a simple action, but one that feels so impossibly good; Wakatoshi’s eyes begin to droop as a saccharine sort of bliss seems to bloom in his stomach, in his veins, everywhere.

“You’re so clingy today, ‘Toshi,” Satori murmurs, amused. “It’s cute.”

Wakatoshi just nuzzles his face further into the crook of Satori’s neck, basking in the warmth of his body, drinking in the sweet scent of cocoa that never seems to fade from his skin.

Wakatoshi waits a beat. Then:

“I love you.”

It’s soft, breathy. Satori’s movements still, but Wakatoshi can feel the way he melts, right here in his arms.

“I love you, too.”

There’s silence after that, but it’s an easy one. These kinds of things always are, Wakatoshi’s come to realize. Loving Satori is second nature, after all, coming to him with all the ease of a rising sun or the crest of a wave. It’s in every peal of laughter, every steady heartbeat, every breath. Loving Satori is loving _everything_ in this simple, beautiful world, because Satori loves it all right back.

And when Wakatoshi adds an extra spoonful of honey to his tea, Satori just smiles, because they both know it’s the little things that make life so much sweeter.

(The little things. A spoonful of honey. Photographs of their highschool friends hanging on the refrigerator. A gentle kiss to the temple. The freshly overturned earth in their backyard garden, ready to seeded. Whispers in the dark. The little box that sits in Wakatoshi’s pocket, waiting, waiting, waiting.)

They sit side by side on their porch, taking careful sips of their still-hot tea. Wisteria curls down around them, a beautiful hue of pale purple. The flowers sway in the morning breeze. Towards the east, the sun hovers on the horizon, beginning the ascent into a new day.

_A new day._

Wakatoshi remembers being seventeen, eighteen. He remembers sweet kisses, shared like secrets in the locker room, in the stairwell, in the back of the team’s bus. He remembers the many stormy afternoons spent lounging on his bunk, limbs intertwined. Sunsets dripping pink and gold beyond dorm room windows, like a gift from the universe for them alone.

He remembers volleyball; of _course_ he remembers volleyball. The victories. The losses. But that feeling of belonging, too, that feeling of something _more_. He remembers finding friends in that gymnasium. True, wonderful friends.

He remembers finding love, in all its purest forms.

It’s strange, Wakatoshi realizes. The sky that stretches above them now is the same one they watched from his dorm room window. The hand in his belongs to the same boy who stole his heart at the tender age of seventeen. A little less tape wrapped around each finger, perhaps, but still the same, slotted against Wakatoshi’s like the missing piece of a puzzle.

They’ve changed, of course, grown in their own ways, but they’re still those boys who fell in love all those years ago.

The difference is, they’re now finally home.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” Wakatoshi finally says, as the sun has fully risen.

Satori’s gaze—which had been so fixated on a hummingbird flitting amongst the wisteria—falls onto Wakatoshi. 

“‘Toshi?” he questions, uncertain. His eyebrows are raised in an incredulous expression.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” Wakatoshi repeats.

“Are you asking to—”

“Marry you?” A beat, birdsong and breeze. “Yes. I am.”

In affirmation, Wakatoshi finally pulls it out of his pocket—that little velvet box—and pops it open to reveal a simple golden ring. It’s nothing special, nothing fancy, but they’ve never needed anything of the sort.

They’re best friends, after all. A promise is a promise.

Satori’s on him in an instant, pushing himself into Wakatoshi’s arms. 

“What the _fuck_ , Wakatoshi,” he whispers, but there’s no venom behind it. “Of course I’ll marry you. Oh my god, you’re so...this is so...so _you_. Oh my god.”

And then Satori’s laughing. He’s crying but he’s laughing and the morning is bright and warm around them, and it’s perfect, and Wakatoshi starts laughing, too, because this _is_ so him. It’s so _them_.

And he wouldn’t want it any other way.

(Because one day, Wakatoshi will harvest tomatoes and bell peppers from their garden. They’ll rescue two sweet, giant dogs, just like Satori’s always said he wanted. Wakatoshi likes the sound of that; he can’t help but imagine taking them along on his early morning jogs.

They’ll examine a rainbow of paint swatches, stuck between hues of pale blue and off-whites. They’ll struggle to assemble a new kitchen table and fix the bathroom shutters and create a home that is entirely theirs. It’d be nice to get around to oiling that squeaky hinge on their bedroom door, as well.

The golden bands on their fingers will glint under the sun, though Wakatoshi isn’t yet sure if he’ll take Satori’s name, or if Satori will take his. Either way, he’s sure his father will weep tears of joy when they finally wed. Eita, too.

One day, Wakatoshi wants to have children. He wants to teach them to play volleyball, the same way his father did with him. He can’t wait to watch them grow up, Satori by his side.

One day, that is. Because they’ve known each other for half their lives, and have the rest of their years ahead of them, waiting.

They have all the time in the world.)

Satori’s lips find his own, for the first time, for the hundredth time, on their wedding day. He’s not quite sure. It doesn’t matter, though; what’s special is that he’s _here_ , and that they’ve found each other.

_To be loved by another_ , Wakatoshi thinks, as he holds Satori close. _Is that not the most miraculous thing of all?_

**Author's Note:**

> ue, ue, ue (soung of crying)
> 
> find me on [ twitter](https://twitter.com/kawashiras)


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